Well, Someone Had To Do It!
by Radioactive Nerd
Summary: A filler scene for Episode 2 of Back to the Future: the Game.


**Disclaimer: **_**Back to the Future **_**is owned by Universal Studios. All commercially published material with that title belongs to Universal Studios of California. Recognizable characters were created by Bob Gale and Robert Zemeckis. Several story liberties were taken in 2010 and 2011 by Telltale Games Inc. The feature "anti-hero" of this non-profit story was created by Andy Hartzell and Mike Stemmle. Other characters in this story came from **_**Back to the Future: the Game Episode 2**_**. **

**Second Disclaimer: The "canocity" of the 2010 video game for **_**Back to the Future **_**is up for grabs. Its authenticity is very convincing, but you can believe what you want to believe and I'll believe what I want to believe. **

* * *

Hill Valley, California

August 25, 1931

11:43 PM

It wasn't a breeding ground. It was _the_ breeding ground.

The devil must have had his own private entrance. Yes, the gin, whiskey, and vodka were all tickets. Foolish men and women would walk right in for who knows what ridiculous reason and come out with a one way ticket to… well, she was too much of a lady to say it. Of couse, those poor souls wouldn't know it. No, they were too busy stewing in their own sinful juices to acknowledge it or even care. Then, the pure _disease_ of the thing would spread to families and then to society.

Soon "Have a nice day!" would change to "Get out of my way!"

Well, not if she had anything to say about it. Saying wasn't getting her anywhere. Even that good natured Sony Crockett didn't like her song. He probably just didn't get it, being a man of traveling. Travelers never stuck around anywhere long enough to see what really was going on. No one else gave two ripe figs about her sobering ballad. Comforting meetings, beautiful ballads, and petition posters weren't enough. She had realized that full throttle upon the exhilaration of lighting that final stick of dynamite. It never occurred to Miss Edna Strickland, valedictorian graduate of Mrs. Fine's School for Ladies, how a burning building could be so satisfying.

Well, someone had to do it!

"Look out below!"

That… that _man_ nearly scared her out of her wits only ten minutes ago and now he almost crushed her to death. A broken metal hunk of his idiotic flying car lay three feet in front of her. She nearly dropped the sticks of dynamite safely hidden in her coat. She knew she looked more frightened than angry and quickly adjusted herself. Looking upwards at the rascal on the roof, she put on her coldest face only reserved for roughhousing S.S.S members.

"_Mister_ Brown," Edna began. The veins in her neck were going to pound themselves open from the startle. "You _nearly_ ruined my booth with your worthless contraption, almost killed a mangy dog with the same, and have signed your own death note by standing on a mobster madhouse. Just how many violent acts of deviance and stupidity are you willing to commit on one night?"

"I'm only standing on top of the thing!" Emmett Brown called down. She couldn't see his face but he was probably giving her that childish scowl. "What pray tell are you doing entering such an establishment at this hour, _Miss_ Strickland?"

Edna clutched her coat closed. "Not that it is any of your business, but I neglected to pick up some barrels of soup! I do mean the soup for the poor and hungry rather than the frivolous and deranged experimenters!"

"Perhaps if you weren't so inclined to harp on the past, you'd have a less stressful future!" Emmett yelled. "You might even be surprised at how many drunks actually enjoy a helpful meeting rather than a self-righteous showcase!"

"Ugh! Just you wait until you're back on solid ground! If I don't have my way with you, your father will!"

"I assure you Madame, I'm trembling!"

How could the son of one of the last few uncorrupted judges be such a miscreant? Still, no matter how obnoxious this man may be, she couldn't allow him to be burned alive in the crossfire of right and wrong. It was too late to run all the way to the Brown residence. She wasn't even allowed within twenty feet of the premises. Apparently, there was a written document stating so, according to Emmett. Going to the police was as good as going to Kid Tannen himself.

"I'm not joking, Emmett! You are going to land in hot water either way!"

"If you were ever to write a truthful account of my work, then that would be the title!"

"Well look who is harping on the past now! Continue to dream, Mister Brown. It is the only thing you seem to do correctly _and_ privately."

"Oh, go jump in a lake!"

Well, even the stupidest of human beings knew to climb off a burning building. He could receive a few minor burns but nothing more than that.

"Very well then," Edna said and jerked her whole body away from the scene. She walked as coolly as a person could with dynamite against their breast.

The last time she was in this particular alley was with the other Stay Sober co-founders. Edna had made sure that there were more S.S.S posters as there were popularizing that Trixie Trotter. What sort of woman would allow herself to be painted as provocatively as that? Edna had torn down a fair share of smut in her day, but a fellow colleague had to stop her from ransacking the entire alleyway.

That colleague wasn't here right now, thankfully. Edna looked past the trash and crates lining the dank nook and toward the door. It wasn't as innocent as others pretended it was. A small slot in the door allowed the man called "Matches" to play secret codes with lost souls. The slot was closed and would remain closed if Edna was quiet enough. She carefully stepped over abandoned garbage. Another pair of shoes would be ruined but at the cost of strong liberation.

As she walked along, she started to hum under her breath. She brushed grime off her skirt and pulled out a stick of fiery justice.

"One for every empty seat in church…" Edna muttered as she dropped the dynamite by a broken crate. This was the best part.

"One for every crime and misdemeanor done for the sake of hooch…"

Another stick was wedged between a loose brick.

"One for every child that's wondering where her father is…"

A third stick was tossed right by the soup kitchen door.

"One for every violent outburst resulting in property damage…"

The penultimate stick was rolled across the pavement.

"And one for every good person corrupted before they could say another word…"

"And one for a little hen that can't mind her own damn business."

Edna tried to turn around but that's hard to do when a sack is over your head. She didn't need to see the foul-mouthed stranger. There was only one man with that accent, that brutish action, and that dirty word usage. His name was Kid Tannen and even he wasn't brutish enough to ignore dynamite.

"Let me go, Tannen!" Edna squirmed in his arms, beating at the air with both her hands and her feet. She managed to knock over a trash can and hit what supposedly was his shin.

"Ouch!" Kid tightened his choke hold on her. "God damn you, girlie. Come on!"

Edna had a little brother whom was obsessed with cowboys and Indians. Little Gerald, as she called him, would borrow everything on the Wild West from the library. It was from these books that he learned about rope tossing and hog tying. When Edna was trying to focus on her schoolwork or reading her own library books, Gerald would come up to her and ask, "May I hog tie you?" If she was in the mood, Edna would comply. Gerald would wrap the old rope around her ankles and then her wrists. He'd try to attach these two bindings so she'd be bent over, but would get yelled at by their mother.

This was not at all like those play times. For one thing, her little brother wasn't there bothering her. For another, this was for real. There may not be a desert full of Indians and cowboys, but it was very real. This time Mother was not going to step in and scold Mr. Tannen for tying those knots too tight.

"I assure you that you will not get away with this," Edna's cold stares and words were muffled by the cloth sack. Kid pulled the rope extra tight around her ankles. "You may have more than half of the police force on your payroll, but true justice always comes through."

Before she could go on, the sack was ripped off her head. The first thing she saw was Kid's face nearly two inches away from hers. It was one of the most frightening things Edna had ever witnessed. It was the ugliest one too.

"You have no idea what money can buy," Kid said and pulled away from her. He walked toward the garage door he had dragged her into. "I got business partners all over this state and some of Nevada. What have you got, huh? You got a newspaper, a doll face, wasted dynamite, and a club of pills. Oh, did I underestimate you! That old geezer being the fire bird? Ha!"

When he turned around, he had a pristine pistol cocked in his hand. "So, what do you think is going to happen next?"

She didn't get a chance to answer because the garage door opened just then. Outside was none other than Mr. Crockett, standing there with that beast of a dog. She had never been so happy to see a mutt than ever before.

Kid looked confused instead of terribly surprised. "Crockett? What are you doing here?"


End file.
